A Sea of Broken Concrete

     Struggling for breath, I swim a sea of broken concrete. Occasionally I pass by a rotted corpse composed of unwanted things. Broken glass. Rusted bottles. Scraps of paper. And wrecked dreams. I’d love to give them a proper burial but there’s no time. There’s never anytime in this world. There would be no point in burying them. It would be purely symbolic because almost the instant after the corpses of rotted and unwanted things were buried, new one’s would take their place. We’re all too eager to decorate our homes with the rubbish of our lives.

     Now I pass a man. Seated on the stoop of a dingy apartment complex, he took sips from an all too familiar brown paper bag. Such a common sight. People with their brown paper bags, sipping willing from an elixir that will bring them only agony and pain. I pity them. I pity him. This swimmer found it to be far too hard to navigate this shattered sea.  He gave the fight up. Long ago, judging from the burst blood vessels which gave his nose a ruddy red color. I feared becoming like him. Wasting away on a stoop somewhere, taking sour sips from liquid torment. The current in this sea pulls everyone toward that future. Only the strong survive. The strong of mind not body will be the winners. Only those with the will to live. The will to make something positive of themselves. Only they triumph. I’m one of these latter. Strong of will, I fight against the current. I’ve broken out of the school of people who are pulled down the stream of self destruction.

     My constant nightmare involves drowning. Falling into faster and more dangerous waters. In them I have no hope of resurfacing. I always fall too deep into those black waters full of evil things. There’s no hope of resuscitation. Once one has fallen into these bitter, black waters all hope is lost. Individual personality fades away, ceasing to exist all together and leaving behind a shell. A shell which is part of another, darker school. A school of drugs and murder. Sin. This is a school apart from every other. A school focused solely on self-gratification. It’s easy to find the waters where these schools gather and swim but it’s hard to escape. Every time I pass those tainted waters, I must swim harder. I have no choice for if I don’t, I’ll be sucked under. Gasping to fill my burning lungs, I swim. I try to get fresh air. Sooth the pain in my body. But all I get is pollution. Acrid blackness on my tongue. Far from soothing. It increases the burning in my lungs. It’s a hard fight. One I always come close to losing. After all there is nothing anchoring me against the whirlpool of those sinister waters.

     Every passing child makes my heart seize in sorrow. I mourn for them. Those innocent little souls who will soon be polluted by our world. This cold world, dripping red with blood. Blood spread all too willingly in the name of pointless wars and corrupted beliefs. We still burn our witches. Eagerly, we search for a difference. Any little difference will do. Then we do everything in our power to crush that difference. We strive for conformity. Those who are different are ridiculed. Teased, tormented, and beaten down until the day they die. Bludgeoned with a branch broken from the tree of self-righteousness. Shot point blank with a bullet wrought from good intentions.

     Shut up. Stand down. Tune out. Turn off. Pay no attention to those pathetic souls floating in the sea with you. Cruelly they yell these words of wisdom at us. This divine law handed from generation to generation. A family heirloom delicately preserved. Follow these commandments and you’ll become just want they want you to. In this, the lonely sea we all swim, there are many things to watch out for.

     I like the night time. It’s much more peaceful than the daylight hours. True, the dangerous waters are better concealed but the current is weaker. It’s easier to take a break. I don’t have to swim quite as hard. Sometimes I’m even brave enough to let go and just float along for a bit. Letting the current take me where it wants for a brief span of time. It’s the nights that make it living worth while.

     I want so much more then this. Love would be nice. But love it a charade. We’re all to busy to love. So busy. Let us let love pass us by. Eventually we get to the point where we become numb to it. I hate myself for it but I’m one of those people. I wouldn’t recognize love if it was offered to me. But I don’t think it ever will be.

     I’m writing this as a plea. Maybe someone will read it and realize that this is true. Maybe they’ll have the strength to change this. I’m too weak. I was born into this sea and I shall die in this sea. But not everyone will. Please, hear my cry. Don’t just swim to live. Don’t fight with all your heart and till get nowhere. I want to live through you, dear reader. Love for me. Live for me. For if you don’t, no one will. Death is always near on these streets, in this sea. So live.

 

 

Reviews

[S. A. Edwards]

I really liked this! Great imagery and very haunting in it's dark emotion - love your descriptions. The depth of feeling is profound - I found myself having a hard time breathing as well. There are some great lines in it as well - especially the opener "Struggling for breath, I swim a sea of broken concrete." The whole piece is identifiable in this day and age. Great write Tabatha.

The only thing I found "wrong" (not that I was looking) were two typos :)

[Anna Marie]

"Wasting away on a stoop somewhere, taking sour sips from liquid torment." and "We still burn our witches. Eagerly, we search for a difference. Any little difference will do. Then we do everything in our power to crush that difference. We strive for conformity. Those who are different are ridiculed. Teased, tormented, and beaten down until the day they die. Bludgeoned with a branch broken from the tree of self-righteousness. Shot point blank with a bullet wrought from good intentions."

These were my favorite parts. Your imagery and message were profound. I enjoyed this tremendously. You shout the things that humanity is far from noticing anymore. You proclaim things so seriously, so somberly, so passionately. This was a great piece. Nice job, Tabatha.

[Dan Divine]

I fear the whirlpool will never stop growing, The hypocrites swirl it faster and faster. Such a small effort it would take by all to slow it. Take refuge tonight dear Tabatha, for you and I both know the masses will laugh make merry and raise not a finger. I also weep for the babes....
Great Job girl, I love it. Keep at it, Dan

[Ckyy]

Yes! Your imagery rocks! I like this piece because I can relate to the internal struggle that flusters in the mind. The only thing I'ma say is about your period usage. In some parts, very powerful... in others, it get kinda confusing. But over all, it was hot!